


Grendels last moments

by SkyO66



Category: Beowulf (Poem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyO66/pseuds/SkyO66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a short poem(ish) thing about Grendel from Beowulf. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grendels last moments

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short poem(ish) thing that I wrote as an assignment for my English class. I made a horrible grade (meaning I failed the assignment), but I personally don't think it is that bad. (I'm only a senior in high school... What do you expect? (Yes, I'm aware that my vocabulary is lacking, and I was unaware of the existence of Thesaurus.com until recently... sorry). So, with that being said, please don't be too harsh.

His slumber disturbed, many winters have

Passed since he last arose, there is not much

That contains the ability, the strength, 

Or that possesses the power, to bring up such a pother.

 

Having been betrayed, by his own ears,

To awake to such a wicked chorus, whom was

Created of many drunken men, made 

His whole body, quiver and throb.

Singing praises to their Savior, salutes to 

Each other, every voice exuberant.

In exultant tones of praise, congratulating one

Another on their victories, and their losses.

 

Each melody the men produced, caused a 

Shiver down his spine. A shiver of pain 

And displeasure, one that no man could compare.

 

Slowly sulking to slay his stressors,

He knew it not to be a notorious fight.

He barged in with barely a blow

 

Blood rained and riddle the floors and rafters

An easy fight, but only for a while.

 

For twelve long years of foolish death,

A new victim would surely feel his vice.

But before his mind could bare thought,

His foe awoke, but it was just a façade.

 

The man cast away his sword, and grabbed his foe.

This was a pain the beast hadn't felt before.

 

The taste of terror ran down his throat, tantalizing 

Every nerve ending, every fiber of his essence.

The feeling of his flesh, giving in frivolously 

To the strength of this human, a sudden loss

That was miraculously manifested, only by a mere mortal.

 

A simple snap of the mortals wrist, sent his arm aside,

Casting it away and atop a beam, as though a trophy.

Forcing a fierce wail to rip from his throat,

His pain more preponderant than that of a pestilential wound.


End file.
